


red

by asexuelf



Series: Fenrill Week 2020 [5]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Drabble, Elf/Elf Relationship(s), Established Relationship, F/M, Fenrill Week 2020, Implied Sexual Content, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:47:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26111353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asexuelf/pseuds/asexuelf
Summary: He can't help but unfocus his eyes when they find her wrists, her hands, the nails painted bright red to draw attention away from the rest.[PROMPT: Red.]
Relationships: Fenris/Merrill (Dragon Age)
Series: Fenrill Week 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1890526
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	red

**Author's Note:**

> a short one this time! since my other fills seem to be so long xD well, long for me. day 5 of fenrill week - the prompt i chose was 'red'.
> 
> i hope you enjoy!
> 
> edit: this fic has art by [dramatispersonae!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dramatispersonae/pseuds/dramatispersonae) :D the art can be found on tumblr [here](https://iiterative.tumblr.com/post/627585546635591680/id-art-of-two-sets-of-hands-holding-each-other)

Fenris doesn't like to think about it.

That's been most of his life, really - blotting away the things he can't cope with, closing his eyes tight against the too-bright truths that terrify him… He does that less now, he wants to think, than he did when he was with Danarius. He hopes he does, at least.

Still, he can't help but unfocus his eyes when they find her wrists, her hands, the nails painted bright red to draw attention away from the rest. Those scars…

"Can you not… _close_ your wounds?" he asks.

She looks up at him in bewilderment, away from her hands cradled so gently in his. "Fenris, I haven't any wounds. I didn't think we did anything too rough…"

He laughs at that, but not as much as he might have. "Not from sex. I mean, when we're in battle." Not that it's terribly different, despite Merrill's confused frown.

There are bite marks that will turn to nasty bruises on his neck in the shape of her mouth, scratches up the lyrium lines on his back that had him hissing into the pillow above her head. The sheets on her bed are rough, not at all accommodating for his already aching thighs. Still, all he can think is how pretty she looks with her clothes off, sitting cross-legged before him that way…

Well, that and one other thing.

"You-" He swallows, licking his lips. They're sore from kissing her. "You have scars. From blood magic."

Now it's her turn to avoid meeting his eyes. 

He leans closer, continuing, "Can you not close the wounds? Blood magic cannot exactly _heal_ , but the gash can be closed, can't it?" Were it not true, Fenris would be covered in scars, lyrium or no lyrium.

A moment passes in silence, neither speaking. They barely even breathe. They sit there on the bed, nude and tired, and let the heavy air sit with them.

"I'm sorry," she says finally, in that way that always makes his stomach drop. "They aren't- They aren't all from blood magic. Most of them, erm. Most of them are not."

Fenris is very still. "Why?"

He understands it. Of course he does. How many times has he starved himself of a treat because he had not 'earned' it? How many times has he kept himself awake at night because a good dream would be worse than a bad one? How many times has he dug his finger into the lyrium tattoos on his arms, on his legs, because the pain was something he deserved?

Still, he asks.

Her lip only wobbles, pulled down on one corner against her will. Those large eyes grow shiny and her chin grows stern. "I was lonely. Before. And sometimes, I think… I think I still am."

He doesn't kiss her. He wants to. Instead, he rolls his thumb over her wrist, over the jagged lines that travel up her arm, and he does not look away.

"I know I'm not," she whispers. Her eyes are on his hands, half-lidded and searching. " _Alone._ But I feel it still, all the time." Those eyes slowly find his and she blinks. Once, twice. "Why did she hate me, Fenris?"

"I don't know." Even his own hatred of her in those hazy memories of their first meetings had been performative at best. Fear and arrogance in equal measure. Was Marethari this way? Were Merrill's clanmates this way? "I cannot imagine any reason not to love you."

It doesn't make her any happier. There's a gaping red wound in her chest, a life-long injury in the shape of a question, and it cannot be answered.

_Why? Why me?_

He understands.

They sit together in the silence that comes after, holding each other as the light from the window shifts across the wall, turning orange, then red, then violet, until there's only darkness for them to lie in. His own scars shine just enough to show the curve of her cheek, of her brow. He cannot tell if her eyes are open or closed.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading 💖


End file.
